He hesitated and then turned the condom over to her. It was purely selfish. She wanted to know him, feel him with her fingers before she took him into her body.
She positioned the condom over the tip of him and eased it down, rolling it over his length with shaking fingers. He was big and hard and it made her girl parts clench in anticipation.
Once he was fully encased, she closed her fingers over him. Wrapping him in her palm, she pumped several times, watching his face, enjoying the way the lines and hollows seemed to grow more stark, torment-ridden. The good kind of torment. The kind she knew so well at his hands and now she was able to inflict on him.
His breathing grew ragged. “Gracie,” he choked.
She ignored him, pumping deeper, taking her hand all the way to the base of him. She felt in control. Powerful. Her fingers slid back up and she dragged her thumb over the engorged tip of him.
“Gracie,” he said again. “Not like this . . .”
In response, she squeezed him, her own breath hitching as he pulsed and jumped in her hand.
“Enough.” He grabbed her shoulders and roughly shoved her back down on the bed.
Her pulse hammered in excitement against her throat. She thought that was it. He would ram into her and she was okay with that. She wanted it so badly she burned for it. She would revel in it. She felt like she had been waiting for this forever. And maybe she had. Maybe all these years, she had been waiting for him. She wasn’t burning for it. She burned for him. It could happen anywhere with anyone. This need was for him. The it was something only he had unlocked inside her.
He rose up into a sitting position between her legs and froze, each of his big callused hands gripping one of her thighs. He slid them down and under, lifting her slightly off the bed. He looked down at her, all of him tense, every muscle and sinew locked hard and tight, ready to go off.
“I can’t promise this will last long—it’s been a hell of a long time for me, but you’re going to come. I promise you that.” His thumb worked small, hypnotic circles inside her thighs as his gravel-deep voice pebbled over her. “And then we’re going to do it again . . . slow.”
Her eyes widened. Holding her up with one hand now, he fisted his cock with his other, guiding himself to her opening.
She gasped as he started to slide inside her, a part of her wondering if that were true. Would they do it again? None of her previous partners were up for a second round in the same night. Then all thoughts fled. She panted as he filled her, gliding in slow, stretching her until he was buried in to the hilt. She felt her eyes go wide, shocked at the unfamiliar sensation. She had never felt this. So full . . . so invaded.
“You feel amazing,” he whispered against her mouth.
“I feel you everywhere,” she returned, talking against his lips.
And then the ability to speak was lost because he started moving, holding her hips, leveraging her for himself but angling her in a way that built the friction and made her arch and cry out.
Tears burned her eyes as something snapped. Some invisible, coiling band broke and she came undone, her muscles going limp. Reid didn’t slow down. His hands slid under her and gripped her ass, bringing her right up to that precipice again.
She moaned and he dropped over her, his mouth on her ear as he thrust in and out of her. Fast and hard. “That’s it, sweetheart. Come again for me.”
His deep voice served as its own turn-on. She flew apart again. His arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly. With a few more strokes he joined her.
Their ragged breaths fogged the air between them. For a brief moment she worried awkwardness would instantly follow. Regret. He would look at her with cold eyes and everything would go back to before. They would return to captive and captor.
Except that didn’t happen.
Reid rolled off her and left the bed to dispose of the condom. Then he returned, sliding under the sheets and pulling her against his side.
He curled her leg around him, his hand splaying over her hip. They were quiet for a long time. She fanned her fingers over his chest, enjoying the sound of his heart against her palm.
“It’s been a while for me, too, you know,” she whispered, her lips brushing the warm skin of his chest.
“Eleven years?” he returned.
She grinned and couldn’t help the little giggle from escaping.
“I’m guessing I have you beat,” he continued, his voice rumbling up under her. “Eleven years ago you were probably in high school.”
“True.” She sobered, thinking about that. Eleven years was a long time to go without intimacy. “You really haven’t been with anyone that long?”
He tensed under her. “I was no one’s bitch if that’s what—”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she rushed to say, her hand smoothing his chest involuntarily. “It’s just you’re so hot . . . and virile. It’s hard to imagine you not . . . doing it.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “There were a few close calls when I first got to prison, but I quickly learned how things worked. I got in with a crew, made friends . . . allies. And watched my back. Every minute of every day.”
“It sounds horrible,” she whispered.
“Yeah, well, prison isn’t supposed to be fun.”
She propped her chin on his chest, looking up at him. “What did you do? To get yourself in prison?” she clarified. “What did you do?”
He paused before saying, “Murder. Sorry if you were looking for something more original.”
He watched her, holding her gaze with an unreadable expression. She didn’t look away, certain this moment was important. Her reaction was significant. He wanted to see if she would flinch. If she would recoil in horror.
Finally, she said, “I don’t believe it of you. You’re not a murderer. Not justifiably anyway.”
A slow smile stole over his face. He leaned up, his hand gripping the back of her head, pulling her in, kissing her long and deep, stoking the fires again. Her body started to wake up, tingles sparking throughout all her well-used parts. She moaned softly into his mouth.
He pulled back and whispered against her mouth. “You have no reason to have that kind of faith in me.”
“I’m a good judge of character.” The moment she let go of that knife between them, she had placed her faith in this man. She wasn’t wrong.
“Maybe you’re just an idealist.” His fingers played in her hair as he gripped her head, his fingers lost in the wild tangle.
“Am I wrong about you?” she challenged. Again, another long moment passed as she swam in the storm of his eyes, waiting for his response.
“No,” he admitted, sounding almost reluctant to confess this to her. “I’m not guilty.” He laughed once, low and rough. “Every criminal says that, though. I don’t expect you to believe me.”
She nodded once, a smile tugging her lips. “I believe you. I think I knew from the start that you were an innocent man.”
“I didn’t say I was ‘innocent.’ Only that I’m not guilty of the crime I was convicted for.”
“There’s a difference?”
He nodded. “I’m not innocent. I’ve done bad things. Before I went to prison and then, once I was in there . . . well, no one stays clean on the inside.”
“But you’re not a cold-blooded killer. You’re not a rapist,” she declared matter-of-factly.
He looked a little unnerved. His hand flexed in her hair, and she felt the strength in that hand, the power of his body pulsing beneath her. She knew that power firsthand, the stamina and intensity his body could inflict. Her girl parts kicked into gear again, turning warm and quivery. “And you knew that from the start, huh?”
She nodded, bumping his chest with her chin.
“How?”
“That first night in the house. You saved me. You could have hurt me and abused me in the worst way, but you didn’t. You weren’t like the others.”
He settled back on the bed, sliding one hand under his h
ead, revealing the delicious underside of his muscled bicep. “It feels like I’ve fought all my life to not be like those men. All I do is fight.” He sighed, his hand tensing in her hair. “Eleven years and all I know is how to use my fists . . . how to break people. I don’t think I’m that different from those guys. Not as much as I want to be, but I don’t know how to be anything else. How to exist out here without being like that. God, I don’t even know this world anymore. Or me in it. Guess it doesn’t matter since I’m going back.”
She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. She didn’t want him to go back to prison. He didn’t belong there. He was innocent of murder. He shouldn’t be in prison.
“So tell me what happened?” She threaded her fingers over his chest and resettled her chin over them. “How did you end up in prison for a crime you didn’t commit?”
He took his time answering, as though formulating his thoughts. “After my grandfather died, I pretty much ran wild. Did petty crimes. Stupid shit. After high school things got more serious. I led a group of guys and we attracted the attention of Sullivan. He was rich, respected.” He snorted. “He started hiring us to do things for him. Nothing too serious at first.” He sighed, and she felt the heaviness of that sound drag through her.
Reid continued, “Then we started roughing up people for him. Knocking heads. Running drugs for him . . . and doing other stuff that didn’t sit right with me. I could see what was happening. We were basically his thugs and things were spiraling. It was only going to get worse. I didn’t want to go down that road. I told him I was pulling out. With my brother.” Another pause followed, and she smoothed a hand over his chest. “He didn’t like it, but seemed okay. Asked me to do one last job.” He shook his head. “I should have been smarter.”
“You were twenty years old.”
He shook his head as if that was no excuse. “When I showed up, the security guard was dead, shot with one of my guns. Then the police were there before I could slip away. I was fucked.”
“He set you up,” she breathed, outrage and hurt dripping through her like acid. Rage filled her for this man she didn’t even know.
He nodded. “Easy as that.” His jaw locked and she knew he was thinking about his time in jail, all the years Sullivan had taken from him.
“So what are you going to do?”
Reid had escaped. He was out. Grace knew he wanted to see Sullivan, that’s what he had been demanding from the start. A sick feeling rose up inside her, and now she knew why. She knew what he wanted.
“I’m gonna end him.”
She swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. Fear lanced through her. Fear for Reid. “I understand why you feel like that—”
“Do you, princess?” he snapped.
Stung, she started to pull away, sliding her hand off his chest and lifting up.
He snatched her hand back and put it where it was on his chest, holding it there. “Don’t.”
“You want to do this thing. Fine,” she bit out. “But I don’t have to pretend that I think it’s a good idea.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. You have every right to tell me what you think.” He pressed his hand on the small of her back, urging her back down against him. His bright gaze locked on her, and her heart squeezed at the need she read there. Need for her. “You just can’t understand, Gracie. You can’t.”
She nodded, the lump still there but not nearly as choking. “It’s just . . .” She searched for the words carefully. “It’s not going to go well for you.”
This news didn’t particularly rock him. He shrugged one shoulder. “This was never going to end well for me. I never planned on that.” His thumb slid down her cheek. “And I never planned on you.” His look was so intent and devouring as he uttered this that something inside her let go. Cracked and released. Another bit of her heart broke off and fell into his hands. “We don’t have a lot of time together, so let’s not spend it talking about this.”
The truth of that went down in a bitter wash. This wasn’t forever. He was destined for prison—or worse. And she had her own life waiting for her.
Stupidly, the backs of her eyes started to burn, and she buried her face in his chest. He was right. She was going to grab happiness with both hands. Seize her life. That’s what she had vowed to do when she got out of here. It wasn’t too early to start living that creed now. Even if this was destined to end, she would revel in the moment.
“Hey.” He brought her face up again.
She blinked, determined that she wasn’t going to cry. His scrutiny only made it worse. She knew he could see the emotion storming her features.
He shook his head, smiling tenderly as he threaded his fingers through her hair. “God, you’re beautiful.”
A hiccup of unexpected laughter escaped her. Heat crept up her face, and she fought the impulse to refute the compliment. “Maybe you’re just not that particular,” she teased. “You have been in prison for eleven years.”
“I know beautiful when I see it.” He ran a thumb over her lips. “‘The curves of your lips rewrite history’.”
She smiled against his tracing fingers, her chest swelling in awe, blown away at how this man, who should be coarse and unrefined, said such beautiful things to her—about her. “Where’s that from?”
“Oscar Wilde. Never quite understood it before. Makes sense to me now. These lips . . . they do that for me. You do. You make everything somehow different. Even the past.”
Except not different enough. Not enough to sway him from revenge. She fought back that bitter thought, not wanting to ruin the moment. He made it clear he would go after Sullivan. She would cling to now. She would have this with him—these precious moments.
Her fingers played against his chest, loving the texture of his skin, so smooth, but also scarred in places. “You read Oscar Wilde? Is he popular in prison?”
“Smartass.” His chest purred under her fingers and she grinned. “No. I read Dorian Gray.”
She sent him a curious look. “In high school?” She didn’t know how else he would know Oscar Wilde unless he’d studied him there. It wasn’t exactly popular reading.
“In college. I got a degree through correspondence. Eleven years is a long time.” He shrugged. “Figured I might as well do something with my time.”
Stunned, she gaped at him.
“Try not to look so shocked,” he said dryly.
She shook her head. “What’s your degree in?”
“English. Figured why not? In prison, books were one thing I had access to. I might as well learn more about them.”
She processed this, still marveling at the levels to this man.
“What about you, college girl? What did you study?” His fingers stroked up and down on her hip drowsily.
“I have a degree in astronomy.”
“Wow. Look at the brains on you.”
“Stop.” She shoved at his shoulder. “I wanted to go to grad school but my father put a stop to that. He needed me. In the beginning, for his first campaign. Then he needed me during his first term. Now he needs me as we roll into his re-election campaign.”
“And what about you? What do you need?”
No one had ever asked her that before. The fact that he did, this escaped convict, her captor . . . it made her wonder if everything she had ever thought about the world, about life, was wrong. Because everything she had ever been taught should have led her to believe that Reid was a waste of space.
The realization shook her, and for a moment she couldn’t think of a response. Shaking off her stupor, she crawled over him, loving how small she felt over the great size of him. “Orgasms,” she teased, desperate for levity. “I need those.” She splayed both hands over his chest and centered herself, thrilled to feel him stirring beneath her.
He smiled up at her, showing off his rare dimples. “Is that so?”
She nodded cheerfully, pushing up and positioning herself so that her sex rested directly over his swelling manhood. br />
“Well. Coincidentally, I happen to be very good at giving orgasms.” He tucked his hands behind his head as though he had all the time in the world, and looked up at her with smiling eyes. The sight of him like this did funny things to her heart. He was smoking hot any day of the week, but like this, smiling, he was devastating.
“Really?” She nodded in mock seriousness, tsking her tongue. “That’s very good to know, considering that I’m in such dire need.”
“Interesting,” he mused, rocking his hips lightly and bumping her sex. Her lips parted on a small gasp. “Don’t tell me your fiancé falls short in that arena.”
Her smile slipped. The mention of Charles felt like a splash of cold water.
He watched her, his eyes suddenly intent. Before she knew what was happening, he flipped her on her back, the great wall of him coming over her. “What’s the matter? Reality isn’t supposed to intrude? You said you’re in dire need of orgasms. I can only assume you’re not getting them from him.”
Mortified, she glanced away, but he grabbed her chin and forced her to meet his gaze.
“I don’t want to talk about him.”
“Why not?” He angled his head, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he stared at her. “Feeling too guilty?”
“No.” She wiggled under him, trying to get in a more comfortable position. Reid shifted to accommodate her, and the move only made her aware of his rock-solid erection. How many times could he be ready in one night?
She exhaled, trying to focus on the conversation and not how easy it would be for him to slip inside her. Even sore from earlier, her sex burned and throbbed at the sensation of him nestled along her core.
“If you’re not guilty, tell me about him.”
She wasn’t guilty. She would need to have something real with Charles to feel that. She was embarrassed. She had led Reid to believe she and Charles were a real thing, when in reality they were just friends who mugged for the camera. Not very good friends either. She didn’t want to confess the truth and let him know just how undesirable she actually was. Reid thought she was beautiful. She’d rather not let him know precisely how singular he was in that regard.